


Of Possession and Lust

by pilotisms



Series: Of Growth and Love [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Filthy, Maul is in love, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Xenophilia, Zabrak culture mentions, but please see bad dragon's nova for reference, but tender, no barbed dick, we love a good cross species lay, ya feel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22551271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilotisms/pseuds/pilotisms
Summary: After the Occupation of Mandalore, Maul has a lot on his plate. You pay him a late night visit, and affections boil over into something more sticky. Pure porn with a lot of feelings.A follow-up to the first part of this series, 'Of Emancipation and Trust'.
Relationships: Darth Maul/Original Character(s), Darth Maul/Original Female Character(s), Darth Maul/Reader
Series: Of Growth and Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622554
Comments: 9
Kudos: 432





	Of Possession and Lust

**Author's Note:**

> Like mentioned in the tags, please see Bad Dragon's Nova for a visual on that sweet, sweet Nightbrother pipe.
> 
> Also, sorry about the smallcaps. This started on my phone and I am way too lazy to edit this 5k fic.

mandalore is beautiful.

objectively speaking, it is also _his._

the coup d'etat strings along a longer list of responsibilities now – a list that keeps a certain someone awake _late_ into the night, you note with careful concern. the never-ending bombardment the crimson skinned zabrak faces in light of the new political shift is overwhelming from the outside looking in; maul, though, handles each voiced concern with the air of a natural born _king._ all done upon the throned seat of mandalore, chin in his hand, winged by prime minister almec and his ever loyal brother savage. 

he is terribly fit for the position of power.

death watch is in shambles. the shadow collective has flooded the cracks of the capital – the syndicate lives and breathes at his beckon call. 

… and maul is _tired_.

there’s a break in the proceedings of the court when you enter, bearing a plate of fruits and meats – you ignore the whispers that follow you through the room especially under the watchful eyes of almec, only settling once you’ve reached the foot of the throne. you bask in savage’s friendly smile, his incisors flashing hungrily down at the plate in your hands.

“our savior!” you’ve come to know the bigger zabrak well – he’s kind and warm and gentle, desperately so, when he’s not faced with conflict or threat. his voice is warm as he stomps down the steps and leers at the plate, “how’d you _know_ we were starving?”  


you roll your eyes, swatting away his citrine colored hands as he moves to scavenge more than a hefty portion from the plate. you move past savage, dress sweeping the intricately carved marble of the steps. 

“you’ve been at it all day – i figured you’d both be ready to bite someone’s head off by now.”  


maul’s face is soft. 

he’s _relieved_. 

the mere sight of you is enough to stoke the bundle of embers in his heart, sending the fire licking up the homes of his chest. the feeling is distinctly _you._

the zabrak leans forward, gilded eyes scanning the plate as your near – your smile is soft and gentle, and maul can’t help but stare at you in the warm light of the afternoon sun pouring in through the grandiose, stained clari-crystal windows. 

“thank you,” he says quietly – it’s weighed with adoration, settling nicely in your chest as you nod; you touch his wrist, fingertips brushing the material of his tunic. it’s all you can steal, for a moments time. it grounds him, if only for a second, before he snags a cluster of brambleberries in deft fingers.  


“of course,” it’s a near whisper; you’d touch him more if you could – soothe away the worry lines digging deep into his brow. however, you’re painfully aware of the eyes on you.  


“if we could,” almec calls, voice echoing, “resume the court, yes?”  


you pull away at the shift towards politics once more, offering savage a friendly pat on the arm as you pass, and maul’s mood immediately sours when you disappear out the doors to the throne room.

(how he _wishes_ he was dealing with the hutts. then, at the very least, he’d have a reason for you to be by his side. you are, after all, his treasured translator – you’re _more_ than that, too, but the more attached feelings of his are buried deep beneath his sense of protectiveness; only when you two are alone does he let that weakness show.)

he does not retire to his quarters until late that night – well after a stuffy, faux-aristocratic dinner in which he spends majority of the night staring face-to-face with some poor dressed-up, strung-up nerf calf on a sliver platter with a starfruit in it’s mouth. it’s a bit distressing, especially considering he doesn’t even _care_ for nerf steak; double his lack of appetite when almec spends majority of the meal crooning over the proposed idea to give monetary bonuses to the remaining members of death watch in trade for protection. 

… _boring_.

and, if maul’s being honest, quite useless.

_he’ll_ he the one to kill almec anyways, once the prime minister has served his purpose. for now, though, there’s still much to do and maul excuses himself with no intention of thinking about _any of it_ for the time being.

just sleep. that’s _all_ he wants.

and maybe _you._

… most definitely _you._ if for only the tender companionship he’s been so missing.

that is, until he returns to his quarters and his personal datapad is lit up with communicae from the pykes, begging for an aided settlement in a feud with the black sun over terroritory claims within the capital. 

gods, maul has a _headache_. 

he’s wrist deep in this damn notice of malcontent, hunched over his datapad at his desk, when he doesn’t even hear you come in. 

as you close the door quietly, you noticed that the zabrak looks like he’s about to wring his own neck – he’s muttering something to himself, his tone desperately speaking to his own frustration, as he digs through a swath of signed contracts dictating the territory agreements savage had issued upon the first occupation of sundari. 

you bite back a sound of amusement, sweeping your chiffon nightgown a bit closer around your frame as you cross the room. 

“it’s well past midnight, you know.”  


maul nearly jumps six feet in the air, his metallic knees slamming into the desk as he jolts – he doesn’t need to turn to know it’s you, nor to know that you’re smothering a delighted sound of amusement at his apparent fight or flight response. the zabrak just huffs, dropping his chin to his chest and pressing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. 

“what did i say about… _sneaking_ , sweet one?”  


your hands are cold, meeting his shoulders as you lean over him at his desk. he melts, almost immediately, into the touch – and you smile as your cheek presses against his temple. you mumble:

“that was _hardly_ sneaking, and you it know.”  


he’s silent, attention shifting to the wane of affection that ripples through the force around you. it’s warm like sunlight and it paints him all sorts of sheepish – he doesn’t feel like his usual self when you drape your adoration around him like a blanket on a cold eve. now, anchored here in this moment, he is no mighty sith lord, no man shaped by vengence nor violence nor valor… he’s… 

well, he’s not sure.

your hand reaches around his shoulder as you move to thumb through the contracts on his desk. curiosity, and a slight dash of annoyance, piques in your tone.

"i thought savage handled this.”

“he did,” maul sighs heavily, half of his attention stuck on the brush of your cheek against his horned temple. his words are sticky in his mouth and run slow like a drip of honey, “though it seems the pykes would like a resettlement.”  


you mumble _something_ – a curse in your native dialectic of huttese, maul thinks. it’s rather pretty when you say it.

“you ought to assign these to almec,” you sigh, standing up and pulling away from his slightly, “give yourself a moment of peace.”  


he turns his head to eye you – his profile is strong in the warm light of the desk. his bedroom remains, still, relatively dark. the grand windows allow light from the moon to pour in and run like rivers along the lavish carpet and up the spiraling spires of the far-too-big and far-too-empty bed. he hates to admit that he _misses_ the nights you’d both spent, crammed together on a cot on zanbar. 

(you’d been wrought with a fever then, a case of the mandalorian flu, and slept tucked beside his heart from many a night in the small tent he’d called home for the weeks the shadow collective began to grow.)

"perhaps you’re right.”

maul’s hand – strong and calloused and painted with the deeply inked tattoos of his heritage – reaches between you, moving to grace the swell of your cheekbone as you offer a proud smile. 

“i am almost always right, you know.”  


_that_ muscles a dry scoff from him. a sound you’ve come to admire. 

it had been foreign to him, at first, sharing a laguh – he only divulged in good-humor with savage, really. but, as you’d grown more comfortable around him and he you, your humor had blossomed and so had his range of reactions. your confidence did, too. you no longer shrunk beneath his stormy ill-temper and fleeting unkindness, instead rising up to meet it with unwavering affection. 

your relationship was pushed and pulled like the rise of the tide of the sea beyond sundari – sometimes scarce and sometimes overwhelming. it was passion that wove these feelings, and like the moon, brought you both together and pushed you both apart.

physical intimacy was… _of course_ something he’d thought of many a night, alone and tangled in the sheets of his king sized bed wrought with pleasure. the release, however brief and gasping, was only temporary. the urge to _kiss_ you, let alone let you wreck his facade of strength and power, grew every day he spent with you fleeting in and out of his orbit thanks to the countless duties he now held as mandalore.

distances makes the heart grow fonder, they say. 

he _is_ feeling quite fond.

“i’m beginning to realize that,” he mutters, watching over his shoulder as you move about the room and curl your fingers around the bedpost, admiring the intricate carvings.  


you look as if you belong. no longer a slave girl from a cantina on tatooine, you’re swathed in a soft, short, grey nightgown that hugs your frame. your hair pools around your shoulders as you bend over the bed and hop up on it, mussing the sheets a bit as you flop backwards with your arms spread wide. 

you look healthy.

_ happy. _

you’d been in his room before (three times now, really, all well past the hours that would deem the visits… _appropriate_ ), but… you’d never realized how big the bed was. nor how _comfortable._ you sink into the mattress, wiggling a bit as you settle. gods, it’s heavenly. 

you raise your head and catch him staring. 

“your bed is _this_ comfortable and you’re not in it?”  


“it seems it’s currently being _occupied_ by a jealous little cur, so yes.”  


his words are affectionate. you chuckle.

maul stands, then, stretching slightly as his hands fall to his hips and he wanders towards the balcony windows. they’re closed, the large panes of glass keeping out the evening air of mandalore – he’s sure if they were open, you’d have already complained and he would have already bent his knee at your wishes to shut them. you _despise_ the cold. the quirk has worked in his favor many times, especially in light of his body temperature running a bit higher than yours. 

he finds he quite likes when you touch him.

just as you’re doing now. 

you’ve managed to come down from the bed, padding over to him slowly. your arms slip around his waist and your fingers rest along his stomach – you fuss a bit with the pleats of tunic there, playing with the soft, black fabric, as your chin comes to rest on his shoulder. you have to reach a bit, head angled upwards and not very _comfortable,_ but you manage. maul is warm. 

“you’re worrying.”  


“… is it that apparent?”  


“usually –” you prod at his ribs as you pause, “– you are better about hiding it.”  


“that so?”  


an agreeing sound. “i can see it in your brows, now. the worry, i mean.”

he makes a face and turns his head, your breath brushing his cheek. he’s watching you in the peripherals of his golden hued eyes. doubt is painted across his face. it’s a bit comical. “in my _brows?”_

you move, then, circling him and letting your hand trail his waist as you do. you settle on the balls of your feet, reaching up to press your thumb gently to the worried muscle along aforementioned brow. 

maul mumbles a brief, “i do not _have_ eyebrows.”

“brow _ridge,_ then,” you snark, smoothing the black inked lines around his expression’s tension point. his eyes fleet shut for a moment, letting you happily touch him as you’d wished you could have earlier in the throne room. maul melts, shoulders relaxing.  


when he opens his eyes, his expression is different.

_soft._ different from the anxieties that had weighed his expression down before. this look is tender and gentle and appreciative, and it stokes a fire in your belly that he’d ignited the first night you’d ever found yourself by his side.  


you’d, of course, allowed the idea of _him_ and _you_ to play in your mind late at night as you fantasy and pleasure strung you out. it was hard _not to,_ considering the sheer nature of your relationship with the sith lord. the relationship was… complicated. comforting and kind and sweet, but… _complicated._  


he moves, then, to sit on the edge of the bed. you settle beside him.

_gods,_ he cares for you. 

more than he ever has for anyone in his life.

it oozes from his actions as he reaches up to cradle your face and exhale softly; the corners of his mouth upturn the same moment yours do, too. the zabrak makes a low sound, akin to appreciation, as your hands play with the tunic pooled at his wrist.

you’re angelic in the moonlight. 

“you ought to sleep,” you whisper, urging him with a nod towards the expanse of bed behind you as you stand, “i’ll leave you be –”

something snaps in his chest. maul doesn’t care to think before he speaks.

“don’t.”  


it’s a bark – desperate and pleading. his hand secures itself around your wrist, holding you in place as concern ripples across your face. 

“… is everything alright –?”  


“ _stay,”_ he breathes, pulling you back towards him and sweeping you up into his grasp once more. his fingertips reach to loop into the hair along the base of your neck and toy with the roots of the strands there, prompting _you_ to melt. you stand there, between his legs, as you shuffle out a soft laugh and lean back into the touch; your eyes slip shut as he noses a hand he’s stolen, desperate for a touch, and rumbles out a warm rasp against your palm, “with me.”  


you lift your head, tired and satisfied eyes sweeping along his face as you try and gage the warm tone in his voice. your train of thought, though, is quickly lost. you lean down, your nose brushes his, and the inches between you both suddenly become nothing.

it’s like a wave crashing on a distant shore. 

the kiss steals your breath and has you winding your fingers tightly into the front of his tunic; you’d _dreamed_ about this moment and he is no different, grasping your face tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you don’t. in fact, you snake your arms around his neck and will him _closer,_ only pulling from his lips to gasp for air. 

when you do, golden eyes are scouring your expression.

you swallow thickly as he speaks.

“i’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers from his spot on the edge of the bed seemingly in awe, “for some time now.”  


the sudden swell of feelings that flare in your throat smother any words you could ever manage. your legs swinging over his thigh as you tumble forward – maul’s eyes widen in surprise as you quite literally seat yourself upon his lap, fingers scouring his jaw as you pepper light garnishes of affection across his cheeks. instantly, his surprise gives way to bliss. 

another kiss swells up between you both; this time, it’s _bruising._ his incisors nip at your bottom nip as you cling to his jaw, heart rate elevating in a wonderful away. passion ignites this kiss, and at the same time, ignites a terribly hungry beast in the pit of your abdomen.

it’s been a while since you’d had sex. _good sex._

the dull ache that pulses between your legs at the mere _touch_ of his hands against your hips reminds you of the fact. you keen at the attention, strap of your nightgown slipping down the curve of your shoulder as his hands climb your sides and stroke the fabric clinging to your figure. 

he can _feel_ your arousal ripple through the force. it’s darker than your usual aura. hungrier. 

_for him._ all for _him._

pride swells in maul’s chest.

you lean upwards on your knees and rise above him, one hand drifting below the back of his collar and scratching gently at the skin along his spine. 

maul nearly _purrs_ against your lips. 

he can _feel_ you smiling against his kiss. 

you pull away and your hair falls around him, curtaining him from the outside world and the sith sees only you – for the first time, you watch him smile.

(in the back of his mind, he wonders if this happiness will be sort lived.)

“you’re beautiful.”

you nose his cheek and hide your sheepishness at the praise, kiss falling along the black tattoos running across the sharp curve of his jaw. you’re not _used to_ the kind words and you’re certainly not used to being stared at like you’re the stars in the sky. if anything, you were _meat,_ to be devoured and used. right now, though, you feel different.

_loved_.

maul makes a content sound as you nip his neck, nails grazing your back as his grip bunches up into the fabric of your nightgown. 

“touch me.”  


it’s a _command,_ whispered right into his ear. low and sultry. 

he obeys, happily, and you shiver when his hands – searingly hot – slide up the tops of your thighs and beneath the hem of your nightgown. you settle back down along his own thigh, minding the gentle rock you give of your hips. maul’s gaze is half-lidded, expression deeply-set in bliss, as his touch roams and explores. 

your skin is soft. 

he could kiss you forever and touch you just as long. your fingers dance up his neck and toy with the rounded off nubs of his horns – it earns an appreciative growl from the zabrak; though not particularly sensitive, the touch is reverent in nature. it stokes affection in his chest, right alongside _want._

suddenly, your back is pressed to the sheets.

he’s clambered on-top, one hand beneath your head and the other crawling up your ribs – maul smirks as you gasp, lip pulled between you teeth. goosebumps alight your skin and maul marvels a bit at the reaction. such is a very _human_ thing. as he understands it, a _good_ human thing. 

his eyes tear from your face he bows to bite a long line of marks along your throat, trailing lower and lower and lower… and his hand, all the while, creeps up along the curve of your breast beneath the satin nightgown. 

the ache between your legs has turned to a near _throb,_ the sheer amount of touch driving you to snatch his jaw and kiss him so hard you’re sure your own lips will bruise. 

“… may i?”  


the kiss and the force behind it spurs a crooked finger to lift the hem of your nightgown. 

you sit up and he gives you room, only to watch as you haul the short little ensemble up over your head and shuck somewhere by his desk. maul can’t _help_ the warm, pleased sound that rumbles from his throat as you fall back down to the bed – golden eyes widen a smidge at the sight of the intricately lace pair of underwear climbing the dips of your hipbones. 

you note the lingering stare and snag a hand of his, guiding it towards the juncture between your legs. 

maul scoffs – masking his dizziness with a kiss. “eager, are we?”

you nod against his lips, dragging him back down to the sheets. to your dismay, his fingers stop short of the hem of your underwear – instead, his attention turns to your breasts; his original trail of love-bites now marks a map. he follows the path, now letting his tongue fall flat against a perk nipple.

you shoot your hand up to smoother a _desperate_ sound when maul gives a gentle nip. 

one hand has secured itself on your waist, the other braced against the bed. you can see the flexing of his bicep taut beneath his tunic. as maul turns his attention to your other breast and winds another high keen out of you, you decide wholeheartedly that he is simply wearing _too_ much clothing. 

you give a gentle tug on the horns protruding from his temple. he’s guided upwards, where you mumble – “off” – as you grip his tunic. 

“fine, fine,” a haughty little puff of air as he mimics your previous motion; his tunics lands somewhere by your nightgown, not that he could be bothered to keep track. instead, he’s busy watching your hands crawl up the intricate tattoos scrawled along his abdomen.   


he catches your hand as it trails a bit lower, towards the outline of the very thing you’re aching for.

“ah, ah, ah.”  


a pout.

“what is the rush, my sweet?” he asks, bending down to snag another kiss.  


you’re not sure you could manage words if you had any. instead, you’re swallowed whole by his body heat. his chest presses to yours as you both slip back into a tangle of kissing – the exchange of sighs and small sounds only stokes the need between your legs.   


maul notices.

the zabrak pulls away long enough for you to whine – and before you can will him to come _back,_ he’s moved off the edge of the bed.

then, unceremoniously, he yanks your legs and drags you closer.

you yelp – surprised and amused considering the glint of his smile playing in the dim light of the bedroom – before propping yourself up on your elbows and watching as the sith lord lowers himself to his knees before you on the floor. 

much like a prayer.

then, he crooks a tattooed finger beneath the hem of your bottoms and drags them down your legs, over your knees, and flings them across the room.

your breath stutters.

maul is _amused._ incredibly so. especially considering the fact you’re _soaked_ – had he known that this feeling was so _mutual,_ perhaps he would have swallowed his pride and done this sooner. there’s a part of him that is trying to remember this; it’s not often he finds himself so enamored with another soul. and it’s certainly not often that another soul is so enamored _with him._

he presses your legs apart and you whimper, the cold air hitting your core. maul pays it no mind. instead, he nips at the flesh on the side of your knee and watches you – gilded eyes flash up at your face as your chest heaves. 

“maul _.”_  


“i’ll get there,” his fingers press you apart, too far but terrible close, as he admires the soaked folds, “patience, sweet one.”  


gods, you could _kill him._

he bites a kiss into the flesh of your thigh, nose darting against your skin as he does. he’s marking what’s _his –_ very much a zabrak trait, and very much a _proud_ sith trait. not that you mind. in fact, as his trail creeps higher, another sinful sound worms it’s way from your throat and you squirm.

“ _maul –”_  


_“fine,”_ he manages, sounding a bit broken, before dashing his thumb across the delicate slit – you violently quake at the touch, mouth falling open, “is that what you wanted?”  


a nod. maul’s lips upturn in pride.

he watches you as he settles closer; another pass of his fingers along your folds has you writhing – but, it’s when his mouth darts along your soaked core that you _truly_ lose your composure. the reaction is certainly enough to spur maul on, who laps eagerly at the sweet taste; his tongue is _hot,_ and falls flat against the bundle of nerves along the top of your sex and you see _stars_ – maul laughs, chuckle vibrating through your body as you _whine._

your fingers loop through his horns and hold his head tightly. 

his hands have found their place along your hips, urging your thighs along the sides of his face as he delves into your cunt, but – maul breaks from his hold, instead reaching to find your other hand in the tangle of sheets.

his fingers wind into yours, and he squeezes.

your back arches. 

he pulls his mouth from your core and sweeps a thumb over your knuckles as his other hand moves to press apart your folds – he _knows,_ if anything, that this will be the most important part. human anatomy and zabrak anatomy are not _wildly_ different, but maul understands the _needs_ of a human body; though you’re _clearly_ aroused, the sith intends on making sure it stays that way, especially given the thickness of his endowment. 

the last thing he wants is to _hurt_ you.

he can feel his member straining tightly against his thigh, confined to his trousers. you’re made a mess of him – already, he can feel the beads of precum smeared along the head of his cock. 

maul laps at your clit once more, and then slips a finger past your entrance. 

it’s by no means _much,_ but it does kick-start a desperate want for more. 

“patience,” he murmurs, smirking against your folds as you try and rock down against his hand, “is something we’ll need to work on, sweet one.”  


your toes curl when he adds a second digit. _this_ is much better – especially when he _allows_ your hips to rut against his chin; you gasp, head slipping back against the sheets as maul chuckles, and scramble to squeeze his hand tighter. 

“faster,” you choke, hauling yourself back up onto your elbows, “ _please.”_

maul quirks a brow. slyly, he increases the pace of his fingers – the sound itself is _sinful,_ and for the first time in a _long while,_ you’re genuinely _enjoying_ the act. he’s not… blindly thrusting. no, he’s crooking his fingers and paying careful attention to how he works the sounds out of you; all the while, his thumb dashes against your clit at the same time as his tongue. 

you’re almost inclined to ask him if he’s done this before.

(he has. once. to a night-sister he’s long since forgotten the name of. he’d been young, _learning._ a rite of passage among the brother’s was to _prove_ their ability to serve their female counterparts and… maul had passed.)

"good?” he rumbles, eyes flicking upwards.

you nod, mouth slack, and eyes screwed shut.

he laughs. “a third?”

“ _more_ ,” you nod, pushing your legs farther apart as your hips tense and he does _just_ as you’d asked. this time, the stretch is _more than enough,_ and you nearly choke a sob at the sensation.   


maul turns his attention back to your folds, lapping at the newer wetness glistening in the moonlight over his shoulder. 

“ _fuck –”_  


he knows you’re close. cursing in basic is enough of a hint.

and that’s why he pulls away completely.

you _do_ sob then, eyes shooting open as you claw to find his body-heat. maul is serving you a daring look, weighted with adoration and a bit of affectionate amusement, as he hauls off his trousers. 

“these were getting in the way.”  


his cock springs free – hard and swollen and _pretty._ it’s decorated with the same thinner inking as his hips; it’s _different_ from a human penis. three ridges sit after the head, and the base tapers into a thicker width. you understand _now_ the work up, and make a note to thank the sith later. 

now, you’re keen on showing him your immediate appreciation.

you sit up, eagerly reaching for his member – maul’s stomach jumps the moment your hands touch him. then, he chews his lip to quiet a gasp.

you’re nearly _purring_ with delight when you stroke the member, admiring the soft ridges and warm skin. your thumb dashes across the head, prompting the sith to nearly fold in _half_ – he plants a hand on the edge of the bed and you _grin._ you’re admiring him, openly, and as you slick your hand up and down the shaft of his cock, maul snags you in a kiss that screams of want. your eyes are bright with wonder – maul is left to be the subject of your curiosity. 

“i’m being patient,” you breathe, looking up at him, tilting your head as you give a tight pump.

maul’s mouth falls open and he gasps – _that_ makes you do it again and again and…

“please,” you mumble, pouting as your other hands darts to your core – it’s a _show,_ aimed at getting exactly what you want. maul swallows thickly, adam’s apple bobbing as you press your fingers along your folds and stroke his member in time, “i don’t want to wait any longer. _”_  


maul couldn’t agree more.

your hands find his sides as he falls back to the sheets, pressing you into the bed as his bare skin burns yours. again, those curious little goosebumps arise and maul watches as they disappear beneath his kisses. 

you’re gorgeous, spread out in the sheets like this.

you press your legs apart as you chew your lip, prompting maul to settle between them – one arm is braced beside your head, the other guiding the flushed head of his cock between your legs and to the hot core of your center. 

he presses against you, jaw slacking in pleasure as you writhe in response – his head flicks against your clit and your hands shoot to claw at his hips; you find stability there. maul, drowning in the pheromones and haze of sex, swallows thickly and speaks hoarsely:

“slowly.”  


an eager nod.

the first ridge is tight. and for him, is an exercise in composure. he _curses_ a storm up in dathomirian as his eyes roll back, jaw clenching as you writhe beneath him. the second is just the same – you adjust, and you wiggle, and you cant your hips and the third ridge delves deeper. the fourth is the thickest – and it’s the one that drags an unholy sound from your throat as you sigh and let it sink deeper.

maul chokes a sob.

you’re _tight._ but, you’re _eager,_ and as you adjust to the side of zabrak’s member, your hands are crawling all over his body – finally, they root along his jaw and draw him down to smother his own growing impatience with a kiss. 

from there, it’s heaven.

he’s sure he watches your eyes roll back when he pulls out slowly, only to slowly rut his hips into yours and send you scrambling to grab onto _something._ it ends up being his shoulders, and your fingertips dig little half moons into his skin as you arch your spine in pleasure; the feeling is _different_ – but _wonderful_ and it’s _him._

_ “s-slow.”  
_

he obeys, thumb moving between you both to work circles along your clit. 

in a moments time, you’re rocking yourself downwards, effectively _fucking yourself_ with his cock – and maul is too stunned stupid to move. he pulls himself upwards, trying his best to memorize the sight of you pushing yourself up and down the length of his member. his thighs are shaking as he tries to let you adjust, and maul stutters a small _plead_ when you catch him staring, his jaw hanging open in pure amazement.

“please,” he nearly whispers, “can i –?”  


a nod. his pace is slow – achingly so – and he curls around you as he pumps his cock in and out of your cunt; he’s _clinging,_ his earlier pride melting away into something akin to _need._ the feeling of your skin against his is no longer a want. he’s sure, in the moment, that he’d die without it.

a very _zabrak_ thing, you’ll soon understand. 

“so tight,” he mutters, stuttering as he begins to move a bit faster now, “so _perfect –”_  


his nose is pressed to your shoulder, his hands pressing your hips downward in time with his thrusts. he watches, mesmerized, as his cock slips into your wetness over and over again, your breasts bouncing beneath him.

you’re overwhelmed beneath the force-user, feeling the push and pull of touch _everywhere_ around you – it’s blinding, really, especially coupled with three, four, five _, six_ _perfectly_ angled languid thrusts. you gasp, clawing at his shoulders as he nips a mark into your shoulder and says your name; _sweet one, oh gods, sweet one, my perfect angel, how good you feel, my love, my sweet, sweet, love, how i love you –_

you’re coming before you even realize it. 

it’s the kind of orgasm that robs you blind. your hearing goes, body tensing tightly as maul quickly follows down into the rabbit hole of pleasure, seeing you come undone before him – you tighten deliciously around his length as he pulls from you, his seed spilling along your abdomen as he writhes against your skin and claws to touch you as much as he can. your legs twitch, mouth spilling his name like a mantra. his noses along your skin, hands digging beneath you to hug you _close_ to his ribs. 

you whine, sobbing suddenly, as you plummet back to reality. 

there’s a ringing in your ears.

on top of you, a certain zabrak is panting. he’s slowly catching his breath; raising his head, he sports half-lidded eyes.

the glow of sex hangs around him as he kisses you – it’s lazy and gentle and tender; followed by his low rumble of a contented sound as he curls _tighter_ around you. you’re _happy,_ smile just as brain-fucked as his, as you melt back against the sheets and nuzzle your nose into his shoulder. 

maul isn’t _pleased_ that he needs to get up – more so, he’s not pleased he needs to _peel_ himself from you, his lovely little heartache. but, he does feel a bit guilty having made a bit of a mess across your stomach; so he parts with a kiss and returns with a warm rag.

he makes quick work of cleaning you up, even dashing a caring touch between your legs. 

it’s appreciated. 

your bones are like jello.

he’s no better, wobbling back from the refresher and looking like he’s half asleep already – maul’s expression is tender when he climbs back onto the bed and curls into your side. the zabrak admires a few of the marks he’d left behind, preening a bit at their color. his nose darts along your throat and he kisses them sweetly. 

the affection is wonderful. you bloom beneath it, stretching as he wraps his arms around you and hauls you towards the pillows – he’s content with burrowing under the covers with you, ignoring the stack of contracts on his desk. 

you’re beautiful.

objectively speaking, you’re also _his._


End file.
